"Because then you would come and sit by me on the grass and talk to me. I am a very bad man, and I want company."
"But," said Poppy softly, "Il n'est jamais de mal en bonne compagnie."
"Voltaire in an African garden! O Lord! I must be delirious," he muttered to himself. "I suppose you haven't such a thing as a pinch of quinine about you?"
Poppy having very little about her at that time, began to laugh. Her laugh was rather like the first note of a bird's song, and she understood very well when he said:
"O thrush, sing again!"
"I think you must really be a little bit mad——"
"If you would only be a little bit bad——"
"Oh, I am—I often am——"
"Where will you sit? On my right there is a patch of lesser darkness that smells passing sweet, and might be mignonette; on my left——"
"No; I can't come over there; don't ask me."